


Kiss Me, I'm Irish

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 22:57:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8772691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: "Just put it on the...," she leaned back to motion at the bed, and stopped mid-sentence.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know it’s not the time of year. But hubby popped the “Gangs of New York” soundtrack into the player last night and for some reason, it spawned this bunny.

It was March, and Spring was making itself known with mild weather and crocuses beginning to peek out on the lawns. Everything was starting to turn green, and the X-Mansion was no exception. Quite literally.

St Patrick’s Day was coming up and, under strict supervision from Banshee, the students had decorated the house with shamrocks and the occasional pot of plastic gold half-hidden behind chairs and pot-plants.

Rogue had escaped the general madness that had engulfed the house long before the holiday had even been near by taking Remy on a two-week vacation to the Bermudas. They had just returned three days ago and, much to her dismay, one of her suitcases had gotten lost at the airport. Wolverine, who was driving around checking on contacts, had offered to go pick it up for her, so when there was a knock on her door, she simply called, “Come in!” while she continued rummaging through her closet.

The door opened, and Logan’s gruff voice asked, “Where d’you want it?”

“Just put it on the...,” she leaned back to motion at the bed, and stopped mid-sentence.

Logan, who now put the suitcase down on her bed, was wearing a t-shirt. That in and of itself was nothing out of the ordinary. No, what left Rogue speechless was the fact that it was a **green** T-shirt.

With a giant shamrock on the back.

And the front read ‘Kiss Me, I’m Irish’ in big white letters.

Logan caught her eye and said, “Don’t say a fuckin' word.”

Rogue just continued staring at him, flabbergasted. Logan had made it abundantly clear what he thought of St Patrick’s Day and the whole decorating everything green thing, so to see him wearing a theme t-shirt was kind of odd, to say the least.

He leaned against her desk, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and glowered at nothing in particular.

Shaking herself from her stupor, Rogue went over to him, making him uncross his arms so she could re-read the text. “What... I mean... _why_? Didn’t you say this whole thing was stupid?”

He ground his teeth, his jaw working hard. “Lost a bet.”

An eyebrow raised, she leaned against the desk next him. “To whom?”

“LeBeau.”

Rogue groaned audibly. It was no secret that the two men didn’t particularly love each other, and they frequently tried to out-do the other. So betting was nothing out of the ordinary. She rubbed her eyes wearily. “What’d you bet about?”

He shifted, obviously uncomfortable with her questioning. “That you’d send him back after two days.”

“What?!” She punched his arm, making him groan in pain, and glared at him. “I told you – only about three thousand times – to leave me out of your bets!”

Logan rubbed his arm, half-shrugging. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, darlin’. And I lost anyway, so...”

Rogue threw her arms into the air, groaning in frustration. “Why do you always have to act like five-year-olds? I mean, come ON, for Christ’s sake.” With that she stormed out of the room, leaving Logan to rub his arm absent-mindedly, off to give Remy a piece of her mind.

When she returned, he knew by the smug smile on her face that he had something big coming his way. “What?”

“You’re gonna make this up to me.” She was still smiling that smug smile, and he swallowed hard. “Ya know that there’s a ball tonight...” She was leaning against him, her hands splayed out on his broad chest, one gloved finger drawing lazy circles on his shirt.

“Yeah?”

“You and Remy will accompany me. And you’ll wear a suit. A **green** suit.”

“But darlin’...”

“Don’t you ‘darlin’’ me. You’ll do as I say or I won’t ever talk to you again.”

“Hmph.”

She grinned and spun away. “Off you go then. We gotta get ready, right?” With that she shooed him out of the room, and as he walked to his room, he briefly wondered when she’d gotten him so whipped. But then he remembered that she’d *always* had him whipped to some extent.

Sighing, he got to the task of organising a suit.

*~*~*~*~*~*

At 8 p.m. that evening, Logan was back in front of her room, shuffling around uncomfortably. He actually had managed to get a suit that fit, but he had avoided looking at himself in the mirror or he’d have had to do without Rogue for the rest of his life.

He knocked, and heard the click of her heels inside. “Just a sec!” Some rummaging, and then she opened the door, and his breath caught in his throat.

She looked absolutely stunning, the green dress she wore hugging every luscious curve perfectly, the skirt flaring out at her knees and making her thighs look as though they went on forever. The glint of a bodysuit covered her arms and legs, and short white gloves with delicate green trimming adorned her hands. In short, she looked absolutely edible.

Rogue grinned. “Cat got your tongue?”

Logan cleared his throat, rubbing his neck. “You look... you look great. Really good.”

Her smile softened, and she hooked her arm through his. And for the first time in years, Logan realised how delicate she really was. Sure, she was practically invulnerable and in tip-top shape, muscles taut under her skin, but there was something about her that made him want to shelter her. She could hold her own any day, but right that instant, he would have fought the Devil himself to protect her.

“Thanks, sug. Let’s go pick up Remy.”

Talk about a rude awakening. Logan almost groaned audibly, but he knew that she still hadn’t forgiven him completely, so he bit his tongue and followed her to the Cajun’s room.

A not so pretty sight greeted them – a young woman, too similar to Rogue in look for comfort, was leaving Remy’s room. For a second, Rogue just stood there gaping at her, and then she turned on her heel, marching off towards the stairs.

Logan cocked an eyebrow, following her silently. Remy’s infidelity always was a tender subject, and it was better left alone for now.

Rogue sat at the top of the stairs, staring into space, her arms folded around her knees. He sat next to her, silence settling over them.

After a while, he leaned against her and said, “Wanna go and get wasted?”

She chuckled, leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his sideburns. “With you, always.”

They got up and slowly walked down the stairs, arms linked.

Down in the hall, Rogue grinned at him. “Green _really_ isn’t your colour, you know?”

“Oh, shut up.”

The END


End file.
